t's been one of those days. I slept very badly last night, I think I only got a few hours, and so by the time that morning rolled around, I was feeling pretty ragged. Still I was able to get up and get moving, and made it on time to my appointments.
I've been in psychotherapy for many years now, and I meet with a therapist every one or two weeks, and with a psychiatrist once a month for my medications. I was nearly forty when everything came crashing in, and I was finally diagnosed properly and put on medications that have made a tremendous difference in my life. Along the way I've gathered up coping skills for when I am triggered or am having a difficult day. One of those coping skills is what I am doing right here -- writing. It hasn't been an easy road, and my physical health is not the best either.
So. With my therapist, we talked about my natural father's passing, and the rather lackadaisical way my half-siblings informed me. That left me feeling rather hurt, especially as CP, my half-sister, and the only one who I have actually met, is the sort of person that is, to put it bluntly, not the best at being polite. And then there is the knowledge that my natural father never, ever, once made an effort to make a connection to me. It has stirred up all sorts of distress and ruminations in me, and the last couple of weeks have been a real turmoil in my head.
Yep, I've run headlong into the Big Five -- there are five events in life that can trigger severe psychological events. Death, especially unexpected ones, can be particularly tricky. On top of that, it is also close to the anniversary of my mother's death, and that's a shitstorm that you don't want to get mixed up in.
I will do the proper thing as a Jew, and say yarzheit for them both -- I need to get the right dates calculated. I will say kaddish, and I hope that this form of ritualized mourning will help me get all of this figured out.
Tomorrow I want to get some more of the laundry sorted and made ready to be washed. (The machines are in the basement, and given my state of immobility, J handles it. After falling on my basement stairs a few times, I have been forbidden the basement) And I must tackle the pile of clutter -- books and magazines and what all -- in the living room.
The kitties are being happy and content, but Mu keeps yowling over something. Oy. I'm going to stay up long enough to take in my Korean soap, and then to bed.
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